


Long Live the King

by PRINCE_L0T0R



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender, klance - Fandom, vld - Fandom
Genre: Abuse, Allura & Lance (Voltron) are Siblings, Altean Prince Lance, Arranged Marriage, Betrayal, Bittersweet, Blood, Boy to Man, Child Abuse, Childhood Friends, Daddy Issues, Depression, Derogatory Language, Galra Empire, Galra Keith (Voltron), Galra Prince Lotor, Gen, Happy Ending, Heir Rivalry, Inferiority Complex, Infidelity, Langst, M/M, Magic, Men Crying, Misunderstandings, Murder, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Racism, Revenge, Sex Toys, Sibling Rivalry, Starvation, Suicide Attempt, Torture, Touch-Starved, War, kingdom au, reverse sexism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-05-17 01:23:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14822558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PRINCE_L0T0R/pseuds/PRINCE_L0T0R
Summary: The title is ironic. Irony is when one thing is said or expected, and another thing is meant or occurs. I feel like the tags sum up this story pretty well.Lance is the young prince of Altea, but his father, King Alfor, does not think that his son is prepared for the crown. He takes it upon himself to torture Lance in the dungeons in order to toughen him up, like any loving parent would. Little does he know, Lance is making friendships with prisoners which will come back to haunt King Alfor and all of Altea.Oh, yeah. Lotor is there too. But he's, like, the Galra prince.





	1. Alone

A scream escapes me as the blade carves through my thigh. My father flares his nostrils in anger. “Alteans don’t scream!” he spits. The flat of his blade whacks me across the ribs. He throws down the sword and it clangs painfully against the cold metal of the dungeon. He sits, pinching the bridge of his nose. I am shaking. I know the dungeon is full of prisoners. I know that they are awake, but they hold their breaths. The caverns are silent, save my sniffling and the steady drip drop of blood as it streams down my leg and onto the floor. The king stands, letting his blade drag as he picks it up. I keep my head down, but I see his shadow draw back, preparing to swing. I try to ready myself for death’s bittersweet embrace, but it does not come. I’ve been cut down from the ropes which held me. It hurts. It hurts so much. I am helpless. I am weak. The only thing I can do is be shaken by the involuntary shudder of my sobs. My father leans down and takes a fistful of my hair. I avert my gaze from his own. “You are my greatest shame. You will never be fit for the crown.” He grunts through gritted teeth. “I’m doing this for your own good. You will realize one day all that I have done for you, and you will be thankful.” He drops me, eliciting the sound of a kitten that is squeezed to death. He scoffs and closes the door, leaving it unlocked, knowing full well that I am unable to move on my own.

Once his footsteps die away, two scrawny arms reach through the bars of the neighboring cell. They untie the ropes from my wrists and hold my hands. My vision is marred by tears, but I can make out the yellow glow of Galra eyes. They aren’t menacing, like the stories dictate. “It’s going to be okay,” a little voice says. It seems far away, like a light at the end of a long, dark tunnel. I slowly lose the world around me, but I keep a hold of the Galran child. This isn’t the first time they have reached out to me, and it won’t be the last. Everything is almost unbearable, but I am thankful for this. To the starving Galran child who has nothing but hands to hold, I am thankful.

~ - ~ - ~

When I awaken, I am in my own chambers. I have no memory of leaving the cell nor of entering my room. I try to sit up, but a gloved hand pushes me back down. Coran, my father’s royal advisor, replaces the cold, wet cloth on my forehead. “Rest now, my boy. You’ll need all of the time you can get to heal. Especially before next week’s celebrations.” He smiles sadly at me. I detect pity in his eyes. It hurts. Coran has always been there for me, but he is loyal to my father. No matter how much he may want to, he cannot save me. I start to tear up, but I turn away from him and mask my feelings of sentiment with anger.

“It doesn’t matter,” I huff as Coran again replaces the rag on my forehead. “I’m not going.” 

Coran sighs. It’s not out of discontent or annoyance, and I appreciate that. He sighs as if he is reminiscing the decidedness of youth. “You know that you must go, Lance. The entire holiday is in your honor!” I turn for a moment to give him _the eyebrows_. “You will be turning thirteen! That’s a very exciting age. Why, when _I_ was thirteen I got into all kinds of trouble. This one time, I dropped an entire cask of wine on the queen’s new white sheets. Your father and I spent the entire rest of the day trying to find half-finished glasses around the castle so that we could pass the sheets off as red! We were so proud of ourselves, but the adults noticed the stench of alcohol right away and threw the sheets out as rubbish in the end.” I can’t help but smile. He’s so chipper. He softens. “You may not think it now, but one day you’ll miss your time as an adolescent.”

My smile sours. “I still don’t want to go to anything next week. I don’t think it’s fair that I get seven whole days for my birthday, yet most people don’t even get the one.”

Coran seems to twinkle at that. “You’re going to be a fine ruler one day.” I suddenly feel sick. I frown down at my legs. They’ve been stitched up, Coran’s work, no doubt, but that doesn’t make it better. Kisses don’t make the scars go away, no matter how much love is behind them. He puts a hand on my knee. “It’s very hard for the queen to have children. It’s a miracle you are alive. Your birth is a reason to celebrate.”

I bite my lip. “If my life is a miracle, then why does it feel like a curse?” My voice cracked at the end. I think I’m going to cry again. Coran starts to say something, but I cut him off. “It hurts. I don’t-” Tears. “I don’t want to do this anymore. I just want to stop.” He hugs me and I can’t help but sob into his shoulder. “It hurts all of the time. I want ev-everything to just stop. I don’t w-ant t-to- I just wanna die! Then the people would have a _real_ reason to celebrate.” 

Coran pushes me back so he can see my face. He looks almost angry, but then he gives a pained smile. He takes my face in his hand. “Another joy of your age: wanting to die. We’ve all been there at some point, Lance. I know that it’s hard, but you have to remember that you are not alone here. If we were to lose you, it wouldn’t only be a tragedy to the entire kingdom, but to the entire universe. Being in pain doesn’t make you strong, but overcoming that pain and continuing does. Altea has lost much in the past century, but it still has you. You are a treasure, Lance. Don’t forget that.” 

I scrub the tears away with a fist. “My father seems to disagree,” is all I say. I can’t read Coran’s face. He replaces the rag on my forehead again and covers my legs with blankets.

“I will come get you before dinner,” he says. He gathers his medical supplies in his basket and stands to leave. “Rest until then.”

I am left in the dark. I consider getting up and doing something, but decide that I actually am tired. I allow my tears to seal my heavy eyes shut. I usually have nightmares, but sometimes I find peace in sleep. I dream of the Galra from the dungeons. She and I are free to go anywhere and do anything. We fall in love, we run away from Altea, and we spend the rest of our lives together. It’s a nice dream, but it is just that. 

I didn’t hear anyone open the door, but someone sits on my bed by my feet. I can tell by the breathing that it’s not Coran. The person stays for a moment before sighing. “Do you _want_ to be king?” comes the voice of my father. I open my eyes. “You have made very little progress in your training. You must understand that to be king you have to be much stronger than you are now. I am only trying to prepare you for the future, but do you have any royal aspirations yourself?” He looks to me for an answer, his eyebrows knit together.

I blink back at him. “I’m twelve.”

He grimaces. “Yes. Hello, twelve. I’m Alfor.” I laugh through my nose. This doesn’t make up for anything, but if he can fake it, so can I. “Let’s get you dressed for dinner.” He helps me into a light blue silk shirt that buttons all the way up my neck. He tightens my vest, careful not to bruise my torso further. I don’t understand him. In the dungeons, I could die and he wouldn’t care, but everywhere else he is gentle and almost loving. Our relationship is fraudulent, to say the least. I don’t think I’ve ever met my father, and I don’t know if I ever will. He pulls out several pairs of pants. “If you wear loose pants now, then you will be able to wear tight pants next week.” He examines my legs. I do my best not to flinch away from his touch as he traces my stitches. “There really isn’t anything below the knee… Here.” He hands me a pair of knickerbockers and knee high boots. 

“Why the formal wear?” I ask, putting on the clothes. High class Alteans often wear white to show how clean they are. I personally prefer silks and robes, blues and blacks, but my father has dressed me in strict white cotton with gold embellishments. 

“We have...a guest.” Alfor clasps my cloak across my collar bones. “I expect you to be on your best behavior. You are to entertain him while he is here.” He stands and walks down the hall. I follow. We are announced together before we enter the formal dining hall, which means that we are the last ones here. I’m kind of relieved to have missed the introductions. They’re really boring. I sit between my father and a stranger, presumably the special guest because he is right next to the royal family. My mother blows me a kiss and I catch it before kissing my hand and sending one back. I love my mother more than anything in this world. I’ve never told her about what my father does because I want to spare her from it. She loves him and she deserves to be happy. 

Coran approaches and kneels between me and my father. He grabs my shoulder and I can tell that he is nervous about something. “Be careful,” he whispers to me. “I’ll come see you later.” He drops a few pills by my plate and leaves.

I don’t want to talk to my dad more than I have to, so I turn to the other. He looks Altean, but he’s purple, so...a hybrid? Is that allowed? He looks older than me, but still young. I’m staring. He meets my gaze and smiles. He’s pretty, but his eyes are off putting. This is awkward. “My name is Lance,” I say.

He eyes my clothes and takes in my image. “I know,” he states. “They announced you.” His voice is smooth, yet condescending. I think that it could sound menacing if he was older.

“Oh, heh.” It’s awkward again. “Um...are you...Galra?” Good job, Lance. All of those lessons in manners really came in handy.

A plate of food is set in front of each of us. “I am.” He picks up the garnish and examines it between his fingers. “They announced me too, but you were late, so you missed it.”

I think he’s being obtuse on purpose. “What- um, who are you?” I don’t know how long I’m supposed to _entertain_ this guy, but I hope he leaves soon.

“You may call me Lotor.” We spend the rest of the meal in silence. Everyone else at the table is talking to someone, which makes my situation even more awkward. I try to listen to the conversations of others, but I can’t hear anything well enough to make out words.

Afterwards, I grab my father’s hand and pull him aside. “What am I supposed to do?” I query. “I’m panicking. He’s freaking me out.”

King Alfor puts his hand on mine. “First of all, calm down. Second, just show him to his room for tonight. You will share meals with him, but you won’t have to do anything extra until the festivities next week. As long as you’re respectful and chivalrous, everything should be fine.” He smiles. When he does that, I see myself. I don’t like it.

I bite my lip. “Okay. Goodnight, Father.” I rejoin Lotor and tell him that I’m going to show him his room.

“Going to bed already?” The way he said it feels like an accusation. “We’ve only just eaten.” I look behind us in the hallway. There aren’t many people directly around us, and that makes me anxious. “What if…” he starts “...you and I take a walk. Would you show me around?” This is a different Lotor than the one at dinner. Before, he was callous and appeared to be uninterested, but now he seems genuinely curious. I get a bad feeling, but I brush it off as nerves.

I look out the window. The sky is orange and beautiful in the face of the gardens. Many of the trees bear fruit. “The sun is setting,” I say. “I should really get to bed before too long…”

“The sun never sets on the Galra Empire.” Lotors eyes twinkle.

What a weirdo. “Maybe going to bed a little after dark won’t be too bad, I think?” My shoulders are at my ears. Lotor grins. I guide him downstairs and outside to the gardens. A guard stops me. He informs me of the darkening skies and hands me a lantern. Once we are away from everybody else, Lotor takes my hand. He leads me to a patch of fuchsia flowers. “Juniberry,” I say. “They grow wild, but my father likes to have them closer to the castle. He says that they’re relaxing, but I think he just likes to get high sometimes.” I realize what I said only too late.

Lotor laughs. “What?”

“I-I mean...they are relaxing, in like tea and stuff.” I flash a charlatan smile. I can tell that Lotor doesn’t buy it, but he humors me with a nod. He notices something behind me and walks towards it. He kneels in front of a bed of fluorescent blue rocks. “Balmeran crystals,” I reveal. “The crystals are actually like scales, and the Balmera is alive. Watch this.” I reach out to the patch. One of the crystals becomes white for a moment before levitating into my hand. “I hear that this doesn’t even hold a candle to the actual land of Balmera. There’s a ceremony every year when Alteans go and harvest gems. They say that the whole place glows with life and light for months after. I’ve never been, though.” I droop a little. “I don’t leave the castle much, let alone Altea.”

Lotor puts a hand on my shoulder. “You’ll have your time,” he assures me. “One day you will be king of Altea and everything here will be yours. You’ll be able to go anywhere and do anything. Good things come to those who wait. Be patient and have faith.”

I smile for his kindness, but frown for his words. I want to change the subject. “Here.” I hold out the crystal I obtained. “Keep this. You never know when you might need it.”

He seems surprised by the gesture. He hesitates, but takes the crystal. “Thank you, Lance.” It turns purple in his hand. “Oh.” He pockets the stone. “Never mind that. Let us continue our walk.” I guide him through the orchard, and tell him about all of the fruits hanging above our heads. He asks if we can eat any of them, but at least half of the stuff in this garden is poisonous, so I tell him that I’ll ask Coran. Glowbugs populate the summer air on our way back to the castle. 

I realize that I’m not sure where Lotor is supposed to sleep. Just then, Coran appears around a corner. “Lance, why aren’t you in your room? I was starting to worry.” 

I start to make an excuse, but Lotor steps in. “Pray forgive the boy. I asked him to walk with me.”

Coran eyes the Galra with suspicion. Lotor stands as if he is used to this sort of attention. “Alright, but the prince needs to get some rest now.” He puts his hands on my shoulders and marches me down the hall.

“Where is Lotor to stay?” I whisper.

Coran halts. “This way, sire.” He continues. Lotor follows behind us. We walk to the far west side of the castle. Coran opens the last door in the west wing. “These will be your quarters during your stay. Should you need anything, just ask one of the guards outside your door.”

Lotor takes a few steps forward. “Thank you.” He turns and winks. “Good night, Lance.”

Coran rushes me away before I have time to react. “Where did you go with him?” He’s still hurrying me down the hall. “I told you to be careful! Was anyone else with you?” My room is on the farthest end of the castle away from Lotor. Coran is really hustling.

“We only went to the garden! It was just us.” I stumble over my feet, but Coran catches my arm and we keep going.

“You went to the garden _alone_ with _him_?!” Coran exclaims. “Please, if not for your own sake, then for mine, stay out of danger. What were you thinking? The Galra are dangerous. Especially _that_ one. And you know full well that there are lions in the garden. You’re lucky that nothing bad happened!”

We turn the last corner to my room. “Don’t lions sleep at night?”

Coran sighs. “They _hunt_ at night. You should know that!” He rubs a hand down his face. “It’s okay. Just don’t go out like that again.” He goes to unlock my door, but it’s already open. When we get inside, he checks everything while I start taking off my clothes. There are a lot of pieces to untie. Coran comes over to help me. “Nothing seems out of place,” he says, “but I don’t like that someone was in here at all.” He gestures for me to sit on the bed. “I’ll have a guard posted outside your room tonight.” He is careful as he takes off my boots and pants. “What was your father thinking? He should have given you silk. Especially for the first day.” He opens a drawer and procures a bottle of ointment. I do my best to sit still as he pokes at the inflamed skin around the stitches. 

“Or,” I suggest, “he could just not torture me in the first place.”

Coran frowns. I feel bad for him. He loves me and wants me to be safe, but he also loves my father. “That would solve our problem, wouldn’t it.” He tries for a smile. “You’re more like him than you think.” I look away. “I mean that in the best way, Lance. He loves you, it’s just-”

“Shouldn’t I get to sleep? I need to meet Lotor for breakfast in the morning.” I look anywhere but Coran’s face.

“Yes, yes.” He tucks me in and kisses my brow. “Good night, Lance.” He turns off all of the lights, but moonlight shines through my window. When he gets to the door, he tests the handle a few times. “Be wary of the prince.” I hear a click, and I know that the door is locked. 

I get up and open the window. I’m only in undergarments, but the night air is warm. I see the ocean in the distance. The moon is nearly full and it illuminates all of Altea below. It’s beautiful and timeless, but I hate it. I want to go beyond the castle walls. I want to see Balmera, and Olkarion, and Daibazaal. I want to meet people and have adventures. I want to escape my life here. I want to be free of my father’s expectations. I want to run away. I take a deep breath.

 _If you can’t control your own life, then you should take it,_ a voice says.

I lean forward over the window sill. My head spins a little as I look to the ground, several stories below me. It would be so easy to jump- No, to fall. I wonder what their reactions would be. Who would find me first? Probably a guard. I’d hate to be that guy. I think about my father. Would he even care? I think about my mother. Would she cry for me? I think about Coran. He’d be heartbroken for sure. I think about the Galran kid in the dungeons. Would they miss me? I think that I would miss them.

My hand slips and fall backwards into my room. My heart is in my throat. I allow myself a few ticks to catch my breath before I close the window. I don’t want to die, I decide. I get back in bed. I’m shaking a little bit. That was really close. I hold my hands together to steady them. I don’t want to die. I just don’t want to be alone anymore.


	2. Two Sisters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. I am not dead. This is my favorite thing that I've ever written, but my other fic is more popular, so I update that more.

Breakfast wasn’t particularly eventful. Neither was the rest of the week. I spent most of my time in lessons, and with Lotor. The more time I spend with him, the more I like him. He’s not bad like Coran and my father say that he is. Today, I eat a peacefully silent meal with him before he is escorted to a meeting with my father and his court, which means that Coran will be busy this morning too. 

It is the last day of council before the holiday. I feel anxious for the week’s coming festivities.

I wander the empty corridors like a fish in its bowl. I’m stuck, swimming in circles, but I continue in case there’s a way out that I haven’t noticed before. I consider sneaking down to the dungeons. I dreamt of the Galra again last night. This time, I could see from her perspective. She was annoyed that she couldn’t sleep because of my screams. She hated me. I don’t want her- or him- or whatever to hate me. I stop by the window. If I got caught, then my father would kill me for sure. Everyone is on high alert because of Lotor. I should wait at least until he leaves before I try anything too risky. Besides, I know it won’t be too long until the king drags me down there himself.

I sigh and continue down the hall. I see my mother. Why she isn’t in the meeting, I am unsure. She smiles when she sees me. I can’t help but grin. “Lance.” She opens her arms for a hug. Her body is soft and warm, and I want nothing more than to remain in her embrace forever. “Did you forget that you have a lesson this morning?” she asks. 

“Yeah,” I blush. “I got lost in the clouds, I guess.” She smiles fondly. Mother never gets angry. Even when she is upset or disappointed in me, she never furrows her brow or raises her hand. I love that about her. Especially considering how my father deals with anger. I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t find comfort in her arms. “What lesson is today?”

She runs a hand through my hair. “Arithmetic.” I droop. “It’s not that bad,” she laughs. I pout my lip. “This afternoon you have history.” She sings ‘history’ as if it’s some great reward. I droop further. “Cheer up,” she says, lifting my chin. “I bet you’ll have a _magical_ time.” She winks and starts to walk away.

I chase after her. “For real?” I ask, gripping her wrist. My eyebrows feel like they’ve flown off of my head. “Do I really get to learn about magic today?!”

Mother simpers. “I don’t know. Who’s to say?” She turns the corner. “One thing is for certain.” She stops, gesturing at a door. “You must finish your math lesson first.” I stand, open-mouthed. I really walked into that one. “Go on. I’ll see you at dinner.” I accept her kiss on my forehead before slinking into the room where my instructor was waiting. She may be kind, but she’s also cunning. I wish that I was more like her. 

Fun fact about math: it sucks. I hate it. I hate most things that I’m bad at, though. If I’m not good at something, I’d rather not do it at all. That way I can focus on my strengths. At lunch, I eat with a purpose. I’m so excited for my magic lesson. Lotor seems uninterested in his food. He is thinking hard about something. I can tell. I want to ask of what he is thinking, but I don’t. Every now and again, he looks around the room for inspiration. He stops on me. His gaze is cold and calculating. He stands suddenly. “I have to go.” And he’s gone. I hesitate for a moment but continue into my determined state. Coran appears soon to take me to my history lesson.

“How was the meeting this morning?” I ask him. “Lotor seemed like he had a lot on his mind.”

Coran is clearly uneasy. “It has been a very long week. Lotor and your father...they have very different ideas about how to settle things.” He puts a hand on my shoulder. “But you shouldn’t be worrying about that. Focus on your training. Matters concerning you will...don’t worry, Lance.”

My mouth is kind of dry. “I really wasn’t worried until you said that.” 

Coran squeezes my shoulder. “Just be cautious, my boy. Lotor is a Galra. He can’t be trusted. I can’t believe your father is allowing you and him to be alone together. Anything could happen.” He says the last part more to himself than to me.

“Because he’s a Galra?” I ask. He nods. I frown in thought. Lotor seems nice, though he could be scary, I guess. I wouldn’t entrust him with the kingdom’s secrets, but I wasn’t afraid of him on our walks. I’m not afraid of him at our meals either. Maybe he only looks nice because he’s a hybrid. I consider the Galra in the dungeon. I guess I’ve never seen her face, so maybe I only imagine that she is beautiful. Maybe I imagined all of it because I was so desperate for comfort. I think about the other Galrans in the dungeon. They’re criminals. I shouldn’t trust them. I have no reason to trust them. I mustn’t entertain my fallacies of a future with a prisoner. They are in there for a reason, and though I don’t know that reason, I have to trust my king and his judgment. I look at Coran. I trust him more than anyone in the whole world. If he wants me to be wary of Lotor, then I will be.

We arrive soon at Coran’s quarters. Books line the back wall of his room. His other shelves are occupied by various artifacts and mementos having been accumulated over the years. A large portrait of my father watches the room from the bedside. Creepy. I sit on the bed, avoiding the eyes of the painting, and Coran goes to collect some object that will relate to the lecture. I don’t usually like history lessons, but I sit through them for my love of Coran. He tells events like he tells any other story: animated, involved, and mysterious. I look forward to learning about magic. Many things about magic are kept secret because of its potential for evil. King Alfor is well known to be a powerful Altean mage, but I’ve never even seen him use magic. Not even once. Despite our tense relationship, I hope that he will teach me something one day. 

Coran returns with a box. I’m ready. “Long ago,” he begins, pulling out little dolls, “there were two sisters: Altea and Alba. No one knows where they came from. Some believe that the girls were abandoned as infants. Others believe that they were sent by the gods. Regardless of their origin, though, no one disputes that they were raised by the Lion Mother, Leona. One day, a traveling human stumbled upon the girls while they were nursing.”

I make a face. “Is this real?” I question. “Can people really be raised by a lion? I feel like that’s made up.”

“Of course it’s real!” Coran smiles. He causes the princess dolls to face me. “‘I’m your super-duper-great grandmother, Lance!’” he makes the taller say. 

I roll my eyes, but I don’t try to hide my amusement. “That logic checks out,” I remark. 

“Anyway,” Coran continues, “the human helped to raise the girls. He taught them how to speak, how to farm, and how to build. By the time they were grown, Altea and Alba had built an entire city. The question arose as to who should rule their land. Each girl believed that she was more qualified than her sister. They consulted the Temple of Leona, a memorial for the Lion Mother whose mortal form had since passed. It was determined there that Altea and Alba should each go and sit on either side of the mountain around which their city was built, and wait for a sign. Whoever saw the sign first was to rule over the land. They sat, waiting, for nearly an entire quintent when a lion appeared before Alba. She jumped up. ‘I’ve seen it!’ she cried. ‘The Lion Mother has sent me a sign! She’s sent me a lion!’ She rushed back to the city to tell her people when she heard her sister...

“‘I’ve seen it!’ Altea cried. ‘The Lion Mother has sent me _five_ lions to prove my right for leadership!’ Now, of course, there was some conflict. Each sister still believed that she was the rightful sovereign of the land. Alba had seen a lion first, but Altea had seen _five_ lions. The people were also torn; some backing Alba, and others backing Altea. Civil war broke out amongst them and-”

“Why can’t they just rule together?” I interrupt. “I mean, they were both raised by Leona. They could just rule together and use their different strengths to make a collectively even stronger power, right?” 

Coran looks back at me with...pride? He lets go of the dolls to ruffle my hair. “You have a good heart, Lance. For the sake of Altea, I hope that you’ll be in charge one day.”

I blush and look away. “But they didn’t work together,” I guess. “So, what happened?”

He sighs, bringing the dolls to life again. “After phebes of fighting, Altea eventually slew her sister. Realizing what she’d done, she fell to her knees for grief and regret. Altea was a healer, but her magic could not undo that which her blade had done. A lion approached the grieving Altea; it was the same lion who had appeared before Alba on the hill. Altea concentrated her power and was able to transfer Alba’s conscience from her corpse to the beast. The lion turned white with Alba’s soul, signifying that the transfer was successful. This act, however, was kept a secret from the people-”

“Then how do we know about it?” I ask. “If it was kept a secret, then how do we know?”

Coran puts a finger to my lips. “Listen, and I will tell you.” He reaches gingerly into the box and pulls out a crystal with gloved hands. “The white lion is a secret known only to the royal Altean bloodline. It is a secret with which you are now entrusted, Lance. We are able to immortalize our loved ones and their memories in this way. Alba’s lion eventually passed, as did Altea, but their memories live on...in this.” He holds out the gem. It sparkles in the afternoon light. “Go on,” Coran nods. 

I reach my hand out, but I am hesitant. If this crystal is truly the totem of ancient Altean souls, then I will surely perish if anything happens to it. I touch it and immediately I am overwhelmed. My vision swims momentarily, and I pull my hand away.

Coran breaks into laughter. “I’m sorry my prince. Your face was perfect!” He sniffs and wipes a tear from his eye. “You must focus your magical energy if you wish to access their memories. It takes years of meditation just to-”

I touch the crystal again, this time wrapping my fingers around it entirely. I ignore the sensation. I ignore my swimming vision and close my eyes. _Focus_ , I think, tightening my grip. I think about the way I have to focus to extract a Balmeran crystal. I think about Lotor. No. Get him out of here. I think about the crystal. I think about Alba and how she must have felt the moment her sister’s blade pierced her body. I think about my father and the dungeons. No. I think about the white lion. A giant grizzled lioness blinks at me with white eyes. I realize that I am no longer on Coran’s bed. I am looking out across the Altean hills, but there is no castle, and there is no village. I turn to the lion. “Alba?” I guess. The lion blinks slowly. She doesn’t say anything, but I know that it is her. She turns silently to a little tower. The structure is made of white stone with a blue coned roof. I don’t think that it is on the castle grounds anymore. I wonder what happened to it.

The next time I blink I am looking at Coran again. He has the crystal back in his protected gloved hands. “Did you see anything?” he asks warily. I nod. He looks between me and the stone. “What did you see?” His demeanor is very different from only a few moments prior.

“Just the hills,” I say. I stand and approach the window. “And a tower. There.” I point to the place where I think the building would have been.

Coran comes up behind me. “Your father will be impressed that you were able to see something so soon. He will be proud.”

I don’t really believe that. I give an inward sigh. The empty spot on the hill makes me uneasy. I look away.

After we replace the dolls and crystals in the chest, Coran leads me to my room to prepare for dinner. I don’t want to go. I’d rather eat a simple meal with Lotor, and then walk and talk with him until it is time for bed. I don’t want to feast in front of thousands of people and be subject to their judging gaze for the rest of the night. I watch my somber reflection in the mirror as Coran dresses me. I feel sick when I see my legs. The newest cuts are starting to heal, but they aren’t pretty. There is yellow and green discoloration around the skin. I don’t want them to get infected. It has happened before and it was disgusting and painful and I don’t want to remember. 

“Lance!” Coran catches me. “Are you alright?”

I guess I fainted. “I’m okay,” I assure him halfheartedly. His forehead wrinkles in concern. “Really, I’m fine,” I smile. Then I frown. “Do I have to go to dinner today?” I really don’t want to. Anxiety rooted in my stomach creeps upward into my chest. I try to push it down, but it’s spreading fast.

“Tonight is the opening ceremony for your birth holiday, Lance.” Coran gives me that classic you-know-better smile.

I bite my lip. “I know, but, like, do I really have to?” 

He stands me upright and secures a sash across my shoulder. “Come along,” he says. “Everyone is waiting.” He leads me to my father’s room. There, the king adorns me with the family’s precious jewelry; the most valuable piece being the circlet of gold that Altea wore on her day of coronation. It all feels heavier than its actual weight. I lift my arm in order to examine the golden bracelets about it. Why is it that jewelry is made of chains?

“Lance,” Father says. He lifts my chin so that my eyes meet his. I don’t understand why he’s being so gentle. Coran already knows what he does to me, and he’s the only other person in the room. I don’t understand why he does this. “Are you alright, my son? All of the color has drained from your face. Has something happened?” He seems genuinely concerned.

I brush him off and march ahead. “I’m fine.”

The anxiety branches further through my body, making my limbs stiff and my heart tight. Coran keeps a steady hand on my back to guide me to the Grand Hall. I can hear the thundering presence of the crowd through the thick marble doors. There was a time when I craved attention; I craved the spotlight. Then I made a mistake. My father moved once to pet my head affectionately, but I flinched. Then I cried. I had thought he was going to hit me. I made a fool of him in public, and for that, I was punished. I shudder at the memory. 

My father approaches and puts his hands on my shoulders. “Lance.”

I close my eyes. I feel sick. I know that I am breathing, but the air in my lungs is stale. “What is it?” My voice’s frailty accurately carries my own weakness. 

“Just.” He caresses my cheek like I am something valuable. Ha! “Be wary of what is to come.” 

I open my eyes. I watch as he takes his place next to my mother. Everyone is lining up. I find Lotor and do the same. My hands won’t stop shaking. Why does everyone keep telling me to beware? It’s seriously starting to freak me out. Lotor grabs my hand and squeezes it reassuringly. “You look nice,” he smiles. I appreciate his effort to calm me. I squeeze his hand back. 

Coran steps out first to introduce everyone. The crowd goes silent. Lotor and I will be last in line tonight because I’m technically the host of the event; Lotor is my escort. I try to listen to the names of the esteemed nobles who are to sit at the head table— I’ll probably have to talk to them later— but I can’t focus. King Alfor and Queen Melenor go and it’s just me and Lotor left. I take his arm, rather than just his hand. I close my eyes and take a breath. I need to appear strong. Not just to the people, but to the head table. They need to know that I can be calm and competent. 

Hundreds of Balmeran torches cast blue light across the Grand Hall. Lotor stands to the right of my seat. I acknowledge him and the table before I sit, giving everyone else permission to sit. My mother is at my left tonight. I smile at her, proud of myself for walking into a room and sitting down. It’s silly, but sometimes it’s the little things that make me the happiest. 

Throughout the banquet, I remain still through hundreds of toasts to my health from strangers, which is very nice of them, but it makes me a little uncomfortable. About half-way through, Lotor leans over and starts mocking their monotonous and repetitive tributes. I bite my tongue so that Mother does not hear me laugh. Other than my legs hurting and the scorch marks left on my body by everyone’s potent stares, it’s not so bad. Regardless, though, I’m relieved when it is over.

It is the first night of celebrations; the _longest_ night of celebrations. Most normal people will go and party, but those lucky enough to be invited to the royal banquet stay for the royal ball. I usually am in bed by this time, but, of course, I have to stay for the dance. I’ve changed into sweeping white robes, but keep on all of my ceremonial jewelry. Everyone else changes into looser clothes too. I sit glumly in the ballroom waiting for the guests to come back. I kick my bare feet absently against the floor. Mother tells me to cheer up; that I might decide that I want to stay longer this year. I don’t believe her, but then Lotor walks in. He looks _beautiful_. At dinner, he was wearing a slightly more formal version of typical prince wear (but purple). Now midnight robes hug his chest and cascade down his legs to flow around him like he is walking on water. When he turns, deep violet highlights line his perfect body. His stark white hair contrasts enchantingly with his gown. 

I unintentionally stand when I see him. He sees that and smiles as he approaches. “Oh, uh, there you are!” I try to cover. “I was wondering...where you were?” My mother puts a hand on my shoulder. I don’t think she likes Lotor.

“I was changing,” he entertains. He takes in every inch of my appearance from the bottom up. “As were you.” He meets my eyes. “You look nice,” he says. Then he frowns. “I already said that...before. I mean, you looked nice before, but you look nice still. Not that you looked nicer before, or now. I mean, you always look _nice_ because you are, um, nice.” He stops and gentles the crease between his brows. “Pray forgive me. My words escaped me for a moment.”

“It’s okay,” I laugh. 

“Things like this happen when one sends a boy to do a woman’s job,” Mother says sternly. I’ve never seen her express any negative emotion, but the hate radiating from behind me is immense. Her hand is still attached firmly to my shoulder.

Lotor’s form changes then. He’s gone from buoyant to guarded. “A boy I may be,” he concedes, “but I will complete my task nonetheless.” His stare is dark. I don’t see it, but I can feel my mother glaring back at him.

Her grip tightens. “Good.” I feel extremely awkward. I’m definitely missing something here. Lotor turns sharply, swishing his hair, and I watch the light reflect off of his backside as he marches away. Mother grabs my other shoulder and turns me gently to face her. She smiles warmly— as I’ve always seen her do. I hesitate. I don’t know how to respond. “Darling,” she gleens. I glance at Lotor’s retreating form. “ _Lance_.” She’s still smiling. I manage to curl my lips to match. “That boy is a Galra. One day he will be your enemy. I don’t want you getting attached.I don’t want you to be hurt.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. I want to do whatever my dear mother tells me to do, but I think she’s wrong. “H-He’s Altean too,” I defend. I’m nervous to disagree with her, but it’s not like she’s going to send me to the dungeons for it. 

Mother blinks back in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

I swallow. “He’s half Altean. He’s just as much Altean as he is Galra. He’s not a monster just because he was born that way. Right? That’s for him to decide?” 

Mother takes my face in her hands. “Oh, baby,” she sighs. She raises her eyebrows as if I’ve said something funny. “You are such a sweet boy.” She brushes my cheek with her thumb. “You can find the good in anyone.” I smile. “That is your weakness.” I frown. She wraps her arms around my lithe body and holds me in a hug. I hug her back, of course. I always do. I always will. I melt into her embrace and take in the scent of her hair. It’s just as sweet as it’s always been, but there is something surreal about this situation. She holds me tighter. “Your trust will be your downfall.” Before I question what she’s said, she pushes me away to look at my face. “Go on, now.” She kisses my cheek. “ _Entertain_ that mutt prince.” She shoos me playfully.

That was...unsettling. I hurry along Lotor’s path to find him outside on a balcony overlooking the road to the front gate. A guard is standing slightly out of his post to be closer to him. “Uh, hey,” I say. 

He sighs. “Hey.”

I want to make him smile again, but I’m not sure how. “I’m, uh, sorry...on behalf of the queen,” I apologize. “I think she had too much nunvil at dinner or something. She’s acting very...strange.”

Lotor scoffs. “Her character is no stranger to me.”

I come up and rest my hands on the railing beside him. “What do you mean?” My right pinky rests on top of his left.

Lotor keeps his gaze on the horizon. “In Daibazaal, I am a disgrace; a half breed; an Altean. My whole life I’ve been bullied and abused because of this. I always dreamed of going to Altea and...I don’t know. I thought that maybe I could belong somewhere; maybe learn something about myself… I was a fool to think such things. For the first time in my life, I am a Galra. But that means nothing now. I am nothing.”

I study his face. He betrays nothing, but his voice was thick with emotion. This isn’t fair. Lotor isn’t weak like I am. He shouldn’t have to feel like nothing. I frown at the trees in the distance. “Y’know, everyone always tells me how horrible the Galra are. They say they’re all violent, bloodthirsty, scheming monsters, but every Galra, or half Galra, that I’ve ever met is...none of those things. I’d like to believe everything I am told— it’d be easier that way— but I’ve found that much of what I’ve thought to be true...isn’t.” I look to see his reaction. Lotor is studying me now. I meet his eyes— the same yellow by which I’ve been comforted in the dungeons and the same blue which I see in my own reflection. I slide my hand so that our fingers lace on the rail. “You’re not like they say; like they think. I’m not afraid of you like they implore me to be. I- I know it probably doesn’t count for much, but you’re not nothing, um, to me. I think you’re perfect. I mean, look at you! You look…” I break into a cheeky grin. “Nice.”

His face finally softens, yet it’s still pained. He puts his hand over my hand, then on my face. His motions are smooth and collected. “A charming sentiment,” he says wistfully. I note how his palm molds perfectly against my cheek. “But alas, you are wrong. I am a monster. You would do well to fear me. I am exactly as they say. I came here to do my father’s vile bidding. I came here expecting to meet a hateful brat with whom I would fight for the rest of his days, but it is you who is not what they seem. Your kindness eludes me.” His eyes dip to my lips for a moment. “I sent word to my father requesting...a new directive. I find myself inevitably drawn to you, Lance.” I didn’t realize him getting closer, but our faces are only centimeters apart. I think he’s going to kiss me. I have no experience upon which to base my assumption. I just feel it. I follow his hand guiding my chin upward. 

“Lance!” my father laughs far louder than necessary. “There you are, my son!” Lotor straightens up and I follow suit. “Your guests are waiting! Come along.” I grab Lotor’s hand and follow the king. There is a small stage where I am to greet everyone before the dance. I keep a hold of Lotor’s hand until Coran steps between us to straighten my robes. He should focus on himself, I think. His clothes are disheveled and rumpled around his torso. I attach myself to Lotor when he stands and Father fixes Coran’s clothes. They’re very giggly. I’ve only had one sip of nunvil in my life, but I’m starting to doubt that it’s the cause of everyone’s behavior. 

That reminds me… “Father?” I ask. My voice comes out softer than I intended. “Where is Mother?” I don’t see her anywhere in the filling room. Her white robes would stand out against the many hues of common folk if she was here.

Alfor and Coran share a look. “She was feeling ill, so she’s gone to bed early.” I look at the ground. I’m partially troubled because I didn’t get to go to bed, but I also wonder if she’s upset because of what I said to her. Whatever the reason, it must’ve been severe for her to leave after telling me to stay. 

Lotor squeezes my hand. I squeeze back. I hold it still while I give my welcoming speech. I let go briefly to take the first dance with my father. Then I’m right back with him. When we dance, I stand on my toes to be closer to his height. He finds that amusing. The warm air of a clear summer night comes in through the balcony doors and trills our robes around each other. When I have to stop and talk to nobles and their daughters, he is right there beside me, hand clasped in mine. As the night turns to midnight, my woes seem to fade. I forget about my Mother; I forget about my Father; the dungeons; noble suitors; war; magic; Alba and Altea. And as midnight turns to early day, my only concern is stepping on Lotor’s toes as we sway sleepily, intimately in each other’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please please tell me what you think! Also, lmao, do you think Lotor is friend or foe? What about dear old mum and dad? Do you like the lore of the land? Uhhh...do you like Lance? These question will be answered when we return! (whenever that is)


	3. Knowledge

I don’t remember going to bed. I must have fallen asleep at some point, though, because I wake up in my room. I stretch and walk over to my window. The sun is well in the sky. I wonder why no one has come to get me yet. I walk to open my door, but it’s locked. I knock. “Hello? Is anyone out there?” I panic when I am met with silence. I knock louder. “Coran? Guard? Hello?”

I hear someone clear their throat. “Sorry, Prince Lance. Do you need something?” It’s a guard.

I put my palms flat against the door. “Can I come outside?” There’s no answer. I put my ear up against the door too. Shuffling. I think I hear some very hushed muttering. “Hello?” It stops.

“Ah- soon, your highness,” the same guard says. “They reopened council this- oof!”

“Please be patient, your majesty,” another guard says. “Someone should be here for you shortly.

I slide down the door with a sigh. Why would they reopen council? And why am I not supposed to know about it? It’s not fair. I should be a part of this! Especially if there are “matters concerning me.” I grip my night clothes in frustration. The silk slides smoothly against my legs. I think it strange that it doesn’t snag on a scab or wrappings or something. It’s very strange.

I kick off my pants. I am terrified by the lack of cuts or scars or anything. Well, old scars are still there, but my newest cuts are simply gone. I rub my hands over the flesh to feel for them. Perhaps there is deception here, or it’s a trick of the light. But nothing. I feel nothing. There are no bumps under my thin fingers. There is no pain. I start to scratch. Maybe there is a layer of false tissue or something. I don’t understand what’s happened and it scares me. 

This time the guards knock on my door. “Sir? Are you okay in there?”

I freeze and then pull my pants back up like I’m afraid they’ll see my scars. “I- I’m okay!” Air hisses through the cracks in my teeth as I try to panic more quietly. I stand. I need to do something. I need Coran. But he’s busy if they reopened council. “Um, guard?” I lean back against the door again.

I can hear the two guards arguing. “Yes, your highness?” the one says, seemingly against the wishes of the other.

“I’m actually not okay. I need some help in here!” Then I wait. 

More arguing. Then, “What is it, sir?”

I bite my lip. “Something’s wrong,” I lure. It’s not a lie. Something is very wrong.

“What is it?”

“I need help!” I repeat. I hear a sigh and the jingling of a key ring. Yes! Success! I crouch in preparation. When the door opens, I spring myself under the legs of the first surprised guard and roll past the second. She reaches out to grab me, but I duck and run as fast as I can― which is rather fast considering my frequent bedrest. The guards from outside my room yell and chase after me. I need to shake them. I want to go to Coran’s room. I know that he’s not there now, but he will be later. I’d rather wait in his room than in mine. I can’t go directly there, though. I dash into the servant quarters, which are full of people. The guards follow after, but they are larger than I and have trouble navigating through the small rooms. I take my chance and run into the servant stairwell. I almost stumble because the upkeep in here is quite poor. I guess the servants are busy taking care of everyone else so they don’t have time for themselves.

“Your majesty!” a maid in the stairwell exclaims. “What are you doing in here?”

“I’m not!” I cleverly retort as I dart back to a main hall. I think I’ve lost the guards from my room. I turn to circle back and go to Coran’s quarters, but that’s a mistake. I run right into a long hall lined with royal Altean sentries. I can’t stop now. I dodge and weave as they close in around me. I hop on the arm of one especially muscular guy and jump off his back. Then I’m on my feet and running again. Trailing a small army behind me, I try to think of another route to Coran’s. The guards are gaining on me. My heart is beating near out of my chest, but I will myself to run faster. Just as soon as I make a significant lead, the guards from my room appear in front of me. 

“There he is!” Quiznak. I take a sharp left. This hall is narrower than the last and the guards have to file down two by two if they’re going to keep following me. It’s darker too. I’m getting closer to the royal crypt. I decide that will be a good place to hide and wait out the sentries. Most of them wouldn’t dare touch the door, let alone enter. “Your majesty! Prince Lance! Please come back to your room! It isn’t safe!” They’re just trying to distract me. I ignore them and plunge into the dark stair that leads underground. I hear their steps come to a halt. “We can’t follow him in there. We’ll wait him out. I want two of you at each exit. The rest of you…”

Their speech fades out as I descend further. I take a deep breath when I reach the catacomb floor. The air down here is cold; it’s colder even than the balconies during the winter season. It’s darker too. My heavy breath echoes across thousands of years of royal Altean corpses. I focus for a tick and make my scales glow, allowing me to see. I smile in satisfaction before putting some distance between me and the waiting guards. I walk quietly through the chamber, but even the lightest step sends reverberating sounds throughout the holy silence. Perhaps I should pray while I catch my breath. 

I usually kneel before Altea’s sarcophagus, as she is the matron of the land, but after learning about Alba, I feel that she would better understand my prayers. They lie side by side in the center of the five halls; beneath the Temple of Leona. I will be here later today for my naming ceremony. I read their coffins. Only after death is a royal Atlean given a title. Once says “Altea: Princess of Power and Prosperity.” The other says “Alba: Princess of Wisdom and Knowledge.” I fall to my knees, folding myself to rest my forehead upon the triangle I form with my hands.

 _Alba_ , I think. I try to conjure an image of her in my mind. I imagine the features of her marble statue to come to life with dark brown flesh and clear blue eyes. I feel nothing. _Please_ , I beg, _Alba. Guide me to make the right decision_. This time the white lion of Alba comes to mind. That’s good. Her image becomes clearer as I concentrate. Her eyes glow white. They’re so bright that I focus just above her head.

 _Lance_ , she says. Well, she doesn’t really say it so much as she sends the idea to me somehow. _Look_.

I look. The light from her stare burns. Tears stream immediately down my face. I try to hold them back, but it is for naught. This is bad. I can’t cry in front of a goddess. I reach up to wipe my tears, but I have no hands or arms or a body for that matter.

 _It’s okay to cry_.

Alba pads closer. I feel comfort. In her burning stare, I feel warmth. I relax in my bodiless state and feel my eyes close. When they open, I am somewhere else; I’m some _one_ else. I’m marching in a slave caravan. My wrists are bound in front of my hips by an old rope connecting the slaves on either side of me. My bare feet are cracked and dry. They are caked in blood and dirt. Each step is agony. I stop in my tracks, causing the whole chain to stumble to a halt. These aren’t my feet.

“Move along!” the slave driver bellows. She’s clearly Altean. Most of the slaves seem to be either human or Altean. I don’t budge. “Listen up!” she roars. “I don’t care who you think you are or who you used to be!” She walks slowly; her rich metal boots clacking menacingly against the mountain road; her large sword dragging ominously behind her. “You belong to me now. You’re not people, you’re not cattle. You’re not even enough to be the shit I scrape off my boots!” She stops in front of me. “You’re _nothing_ ,” she spits in my face.

Anger boils inside of me. It’s not my anger. I dig my nails into my palms so hard that blood drips from my fists. “I was your brother, Adra!” I yell. It’s not my voice. I try to grab at her with bloody hands, but the rope holds her just out of my reach. I’m so angry that saliva seethes through my clenched teeth. “You were my sister!” 

Adra seems amused. She turns on her heal and continues her walk. “It’s as I said,” she announces. “You’re nothing now!” She slaps the exposed thigh of a young human girl with the flat of her blade. “Now move along! Balmera isn’t going to harvest itself!” 

I squeeze my eyes shut in an expression of sheer rage. When I open my eyes, I am someone else. I’m holding an Altean man in my arms. Not my arms. I recognize the throne room. This is where my father holds court. The man in my arms coughs. I notice that my hands are shaking. I’m trying to hold a flesh wound on his stomach closed. These aren’t my hands. “Hold on, brother,” I weep. “I can fix this. I-” I try to heal him, but it’s not working. “Leonis,” my voice cracks. “Please stay with me.” His breathing is getting slower. I try again to heal him. “Come on, Leo. You have a kingdom to run. Help me to heal you.”

Leonis puts on a weak smile. He shakes his head slowly. “Not me, brother.” My tears fall onto his amber cheeks. He holds my hand over his wound and reaches up with his other hand to wipe my face. “Don’t cry, Aslan.” His voice is the sweetest thing in my life. I don’t want to lose it. “You have a kingdom to run.” He coughs again. Blood spatters my face. I cry harder. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispers. His hand goes slack. 

“No,” I grunt. “No!” I shake him. “Leo! Brother! Please!” I cradle his body closer to me. My sobs echo throughout the empty throne room and return as laughter in my ears. “Altea!” I scream to the sky. “Have you no mercy?!” My brother lives for another three vargas. I try over and over to heal him in that time, but I fail. I cry helplessly over his corpse. “It should’ve been me,” I mutter. “It should’ve been me.” Vargas after it’s too late, the court returns to peel me off of him. 

When I blink, I’m on the high tower balcony─ the tallest point of the castle─ overlooking the sea. I’m still Aslan. I’m holding Leo’s sword. It’s the same sword Adra dragged across the mountain. Had I control over this body I would have gasped. It’s the same sword my father drags across my legs. I pull myself onto the balcony railing. The view up here is marvelous. It’s even better than that from my bedroom window. I feel the wind rip across my skin. It should have been me. I fall forward onto my sword and off of the balcony. The fall is long. I have too much time to think. The most prominent thought is “I’m sorry.” I’m sorry, Leo. You thought I could do anything, but I’m nothing without you by my side.

I hit the water head first. I think that I should have died on impact, but I remain conscious as my body sinks deeper, deeper into darkness. 

It takes a moment for me to realize that I am someone else again. I’m in the throne room but on the throne this time. There is chaos all around; the castle is under attack, but I’m not fighting. I’ve fought enough in my life. The attacker enters. He’s a monster; a mess of blue and white shapes, spinning and blurring in and out of focus. I stand. He has my sword. I remember the horrible things my hands have done whilst wielding that cursed blade. I imagine the blood of my sins to fill my hands. I betrayed my own sister; my own son. And for what? So I could be king? I let those about whom I most cared slip through my fingers, and now I am all alone.

“Are you happy?!” the monster shrieks. No. I’m not. “Is this what you wanted?!” No. Of course not. “Alfor!” Oh, my goddess. “It is time for an end to your tyrannical rule!” I’m my father. “It is time that you paid for your crimes!” The hatred and anger in his eyes are so intense. I feel nothing but regret. He plunges my sword into my chest and gets up into my face. “Long live the king,” he seethes. Then he twists the blade. I fall to my knees, then to the floor. The monster watches over me as I die. I’m trying to speak. He kneels to be closer.

I take his hand. He seems confused by this. I press a kiss to his knuckles. “I’m sorry,” I wheeze. “And I forgive you.” Tears well in my eyes and slide down the sides of my face. The monster seems distraught. He saying things, but I can’t hear. I want to look at him, but tears mar my vision. I blink them back to see the white feline face of Alba.

“What-”

 _Lance_.

Strong arms pull me off the crypt floor. I’m covered from head to toe in freezing sweat. I’m shaking. I’m shaking a lot. My face is covered in snot and tears. I’m sobbing uncontrollably. I can hardly breathe. “Lance.” He holds my arms to try to steady me. 

“Father?” I cry. “Oh, Father!” I grip his sleeves with my frozen fingers. “Father, I saw your death!” I bury my face in his chest and weep. I’m so panicked I can’t bring myself to worry about the repercussions of crying in front of him. “I saw Altea burn!”

Father wraps his arms around me. He holds me close against his chest. What is this? He rubs my back and hushes me. “Don’t say anything, Lance.” What is he doing? He holds me until my sobs turn to stuttered breaths. “You’re okay,” he says. He takes the corner of his silk robes to wipe my face. I don’t know how to react to this. No one is watching us, so why is he being so tender? He puts his thumb to my forehead. “Sleep.”

My body falls against his like a ragdoll. I can still see everything, but it’s similar to the visual manner of dreams; it’s as if from another’s eyes. Father scoops me up and carries me out of the crypt. He tells some guards to send Coran to his room; that he needs help with the prince. When we get to my father’s quarters, he lays me on his bed. He puts his thumb to my forehead. “Wake.”

I open my eyes, seeing again from my own perspective. I stare at my father. He looks worried, but he’s not saying anything. I’m scared. I’ve never seen him do magic before now and I- I’m nothing. I was proud of myself for harvesting Balmeran crystals, but now I see I am nothing. My father rendered me defenseless with a single word. I can’t even pray right. It’s no wonder he thinks I’m so weak. I _am_ weak. I am _nothing_. 

He moves in my direction, but I scoot back. “I saw you die,” I whisper. “You were in-”

“No, Lance,” Father commands. “Don’t tell me anything. Don’t tell anyone what you saw. Do you understand?”

I swallow and nod. We stare at each other, not daring to move until Coran arrives.

“Let’s get you washed up,” Father says finally. He stands and whispers something to Coran. 

Coran looks at me with a face I’ve never seen before. I can usually read him, but I have no idea what he is thinking. “Right, then!” he chirps, suddenly someone else. “You’re going to be late for the ceremony if you don’t wash up now. Come along.” He leads me to Father’s washroom. It’s the only one with natural hot water. The warmth is an extremely comforting contrast to my sweat. The heat coaxes my scars from purple to white to pink. I run my hands over my legs.

“Coran?”

He flinches. “Ah, what is it, my boy?”

I wonder why no one tells me things, and when I find out on my own, I’m not supposed to tell anyone. “What happened to my legs?”

Coran freezes. He was relatively still before, but I think he might be holding his breath now. “What do you mean, Lance?”

I trace the ghosts of cuts long since mended. “There were healing wounds here, but they’ve gone.” I raise my head to meet Coran’s gaze.

“They’ve healed, then,” he smiles.

I shake my head. “There aren’t scars.” My voice is scant, perhaps from crying. “What happened to me?”

Coran sighs. He looks behind him to be sure no one is listening. “Your father healed you.”

It’s not easy for me to accept this notion. “Why?” I ask. “Why would he heal me? He’s the one who-”

“He loves you, Lance. He really does. He cares for you, even if you don’t see it. He hates seeing you in pain. He wants you to be strong and grow and-”

“Do not speak to me this way!” I splash hot water into his face. “Do not lie to me, Coran!” I beg. “No one is honest or open with me. They keep secrets and then complain of my ignorance. Coran, you’re the only one I can count on to tell me the truth, or at least that there is a truth I am not allowed to know. Please, don’t lie to me.”

Coran sighs. 

“Coran,” say more calmly. “I don’t think Altea is very fond of me.”

He looks sad. “Your legsㅡ we can’t let the people see them. Your scars are representatives- reminders of your weakness.” These aren’t Coran’s words. He is repeating someone else, I am sure. “Altea can make you strong, but only if you pledge yourself to her. The ceremony today will determine whether you follow her path or-”

“Alba’s?”

Coran smiles sadly. “I can’t see why it should come to that.”

I guess Father didn’t tell Coran where I was.

I remember Adra. I can only feel like her words were meant for me. Why else would Alba send me that vision? Perhaps my vision of Aslan was intended to show me that people like Leonis or Coran may believe in me, but that doesn’t make me strong when I am weak. Perhaps my vision of Father was intended to show me that, even if I do become powerful, I’ll become sick with it, and it shall be my end. I shiver. I don’t want to become my father. But at the same time, I want nothing more than my father’s approval.

Coran pulls me out of the tub and dries me off. He dresses me in my parents’ room. “What you did this morning was very dangerous,” he chides gently. I think he’s trying to direct the subject away from the daughters of Leona. “Those guards are there to protect you. Pulling a stunt as you did could have resulted in tragedy.” 

I’m not sorry for tricking the guards. They were trapping me, not protecting me. “You and Father could protect me better than the whole lot of them combined,” I say. “But you were busy. Why was council reopened, anyway?” 

Coran fumbles with the knot he was trying to tie. Father clears his throat behind me. “You needn’t worry about such matters,” he asserts.

I turn around. “Why not? It was about me, was it not? Why am I kept in the dark? I deserve to know what’s happening! How can I serve my kingdom as a prince if don’t know anything.”

“Silence, boy,” the king commands. “You know not of what you speak.”

“Because no one tells me anything!” I bite back. “I am forced to resort to devious means to obtain basic information! It isn’t fair! I don’t want to speak with the dead in order to understand myself.”

I expect the king to get angry or roar back or hit me, but he sighs and sits on his bed. “I know this isn’t easy for you. However, I must ask you to be patient. One day you _will_ understand. Your patience will be rewarded.” He runs a hand through his hair. “And _never_ pray directly to Alba. You saw how it affected you after but a few moments. A great curse comes with her knowledge. I implore you to avoid such a future. She is dangerous. I am your father as well as your king. It is my duty to protect you. Do you understand?”

I go and sit next to my father. I can’t very well yell at him after he’s been calm with me. I look into his eyes to find my own anguish reflected back. He seems to want to tell me what I want to know, but something prevents him. “If your duty is to protect me," I ask, "then why are you my only danger?”

He doesn’t respond. 

I stand and walk through the door. Coran catches up to me and we continue in silence to the Temple of Leona. I feel Father walking behind us. Queen Melanor greets us hastily, as the people have been waiting for vargas. Coran grabs my hand and lets go just as quickly. I think he was sending luck or something. 

I step into the nave, flanked by the King and Queen. This crowd is smaller than yesterday’s because it is more selective. Only the highest ranking nobles are allowed to witness this sacred ceremony. Every person here wears white. I look quickly for Lotor, but I don’t find him. 

My father and mother usher me quickly to the altar in the temple’s center. The crowd goes completely silent and kneels. Mother kneels too. Father and I step forward and kneel at the holy altar. Mother isn’t allowed because she isn’t of the royal bloodline. I assume the High Priestess has already conducted her part of the ceremony, as my part is near the end. 

Father whispers so low I can barely hear him. “Do you know what to do?” he asks me. 

I swallow. “I’m naming my patron or matron.”

He squeezes my hand behind the altar. “Do not say Alba. Even if she appears before you.”

I close my eyes. I’ve spent the last few days connecting and concentrating on Alba. Now I must ignore her presence. I trust my father. He keeps secrets, but he doesn’t lie to me. I can only believe Alba is as much of a threat as he says. Whoever I name today could completely change my life; it could alter the course of history. I’m supposed to choose a past king or queen of Altea with a spirit resonant of my own. Even if someone presents themselves to me, I could lie and choose a more favorable sponsor. I’ve only been taught of Altean heroes until now in the hopes I would name one. I’m no hero, though. 

I want to pray to someone from whom I can learn. Leonis and Aslan come to mind. They seem to be calling for me. I learned of their existence only this morning, but I think they would understand me better than any other.

I consider Leonis. He was strong and charming. He was well loved and happy, despite the world’s tragedy. He died at a young age but was able to spend his last moments with his dear brother. I consider Aslan. He spent his life in his brother’s shadow, but he was content so long as his brother was happy. Despite Leo’s support, Aslan never seemed to be enough for anyone else. His brother’s death affected him so that he sought to end his life.

I want to be Leonis, but I am not. I want to utter his name, but I cannot.

I can only hope Altea is with me as I stand. Everyone else remains kneeling with their heads bowed. “I name King Aslan as my patron,” I project. My voice isn’t as sure as I intended, but the silence of the hall carries it to each member of the audience. Immediately I am overcome with anxiety that I’ve made the wrong choice.

The High Priestess is the first to stand after me. “Under the eye of the Lion Mother, the goddess Leona, Prince Lance, son of King Alfor of Altea, has named King Aslan, son of Queen Alaina of Altea, as his patron. Prince Lance is hereby protected and represented by King Aslan: Prince of Pain and Despair.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Altea: I can grant you unimaginable levels of power and success  
> Alba: I have exposition, tho


	4. Deceit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: self-harm, suicidal thoughts

I am the first to leave the Temple after the ceremony. Everyone else has to stay for the closing. At some point, there was a reason for the prince or princess to exit before the others, but it’s been lost to time. I needn’t prepare for another event as the rest of the day is clear for prayer. 

I wander into a lounge. It’s empty. I sit down rest my eyes for a moment. I feel overwhelmed by the morning’s events, but I fear sleep. I haven’t eaten yet today, so maybe that’s another reason I feel so light headed. I want to seek out Lotor, but Coran finds me and guides me to another room before I can start my search. My father is there waiting. 

He stands when I come in. “Have you any foresight of the consequences of your actions?” The room is dark, but I know the king’s face is flush with anger. 

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “I was trying to do the right thing.”

King Alfor takes a step toward me. “You failed.”

Coran puts his hands on my shoulders to hold me back. “He’s only a boy.” 

“He is a _prince_ ,” the king reminds us. He draws his sword and points it at me. “Go to the wall,” he directs.

Coran keeps his hold. “Alfor,” he pleads. “He is your _son_.”

Alfor keeps his gaze trained on me. “Lance,” he commands. “To the wall.”

“Alfor, I know you don’t want to do this,” Coran begs.

The king tightens his grip on the blade. “You know I have no choice.” Both men wait for the other to yield. “Coran. With whom does your loyalty lie?”

Coran flinches. “T-To you, my king.” He squeezes my arms before reluctantly letting go. “Always to you.” 

I walk to the wall, looking between the king and his advisor. I don’t know what’s happening. Surely my father won’t torture me in front of Coran. Just as I think that, however, Coran turns his back on me, folding his hands behind him.

I turn to King Alfor. He is staring down at the sword in his hand with a look of pensive woe. 

“F-Father?” I question.

He seems to come out of his head when he looks on me. His eyes carry hate, anger, regret.

“I’m sorry,” I say again. I’m not sure for what I am apologizing, but the king’s eyes make me sorry to be alive. I swallow and find my back against the wall.

King Alfor raises his sword, but not as if to strike, rather to present. “Do you know what this is?” he asks, voice low.

I eye him, then the sword. “It is your blade, sir,” I respond carefully.

He raises an eyebrow. “Is that all you know?”

I think he knows what I know. Nevertheless, I respond. “It was the sword of Altea, the first queen of our land.” My eyes fall to the floor. “This is the same sword with which she slew Alba, her only sister.” My gaze flicks up to his face for a moment. I seem to have said something right— judging by the gleam in his eye— so I continue. “It’s the blade with which Adra tortured slaves, on which Aslan fell, and-” My words fail me. I swallow to try again. “It is the blade by which you shall perish.” I hesitate to look up again.

He frowns. Maybe I shouldn’t have said the last part. He holds out the sword to me, hilt first. “Take it,” he commands.

I do. It’s heavy, and I struggle to keep it off the ground.

“This sword has a taste for Altean blood. You know that.” He begins to pace back and forth in front of me; his steps are slow, like a funeral march. “You seem to recall events, however, that our history does not recount. I’m curious, Lance. From whom have you learned these things?”

I follow him with my eyes, but my body remains still as if chains and shackles of fear hold me down. The man who cradled me in the crypts is gone. The king is himself again. “I had a vision, sir,” I whisper. “I saw from the eyes of the dead. I knew their thoughts and felt their pain. I died in their bodies. I-” I shiver.

He stops pacing and turns to face me. “You know their secrets?”

“Y-Yes, sir.”

King Alfor steps forward with a hand raised. I brace myself for a strike but find instead a foreign sensation. He caresses my face; fingers partially in my hair; palm holding my cheek; thumb rubbing the blue mark under my eye. “So much potential,” he murmurs. 

I swallow again. “Are you going to cut me?” 

He looks disappointed. “What do you think?”

The sword is in my hand. If I wanted, I could run the king through right here. I don’t want to, though. “Y-You won’t,” I say. “Not this time, at least… Because you already healed me, and it would be bad if someone saw and knew how weak I am. And how weak the kingdom might appear because of me.”

Now both of his hands are holding my face. “Meet my gaze, boy.”

It’s harder for me to look at him when he’s gentle than when he’s callous. “I’m sor-”

“Stop.” He tucks stray tufts of hair behind my ears. Again today, he holds me like something precious. “The only thing that makes you weak is your belief that you are.”

I furrow my brow. “What is that supposed to mean?”

I think he’s in his head again. He’s looking at my Altean marks, not my eyes. “So much power,” he mumbles. “So much potential.” He sighs. “One day you will understand. Your mistakes do not make you, Lance, though you seem to make a lot of mistakes.” His face falls into his natural, angry demeanor. “And for your mistakes, you must pay.” He moves his hands to my temples. “Hold still.”

I don’t have time to react before I am overcome with the most pain I’ve ever felt in my entire life. My scream is loud and piercing. This is magic; it has to be. It’s coming from his hands. It hurts. White hot sensations burn through every nerve of my being. It hurts as thunder sounds; as lightning looks; as blood tastes; as death smells; as love feels. I can’t see past my tears.

King Alfor stops only briefly to readjust his grip on my head. In that moment, I am able to glimpse his face of sorrow.

Somehow it hurts more the second time. I can’t think of what I’ve done or what I’ve failed to do. The only thing I can perceive is pain. The aftershocks are nearly as severe. It takes me a while to realize it’s over. At some point, I dropped the sword, and my legs gave out. I’m twitching and convulsing on the floor at the feet of the king. I am gasping for air that my screams took away. 

I can’t do anything right. Here I am— screaming and crying— on an Altean Holy Day. I am not an Altean. I am not a prince. I am not my father’s son, nor am I Coran’s disciple. I feel so small, so weak.

The king retrieves his sword. I silently beg for him to finish me off. “You have no further duties to which you must attend today,” he grumbles. “You will remain in your quarters until you are retrieved for the festivities tomorrow. You will not eat until that time. Do not make any attempts to escape. The guards have all been warned concerning your newfound deceptive nature. I suggest you rest and think about how you can stop this cycle.” He straightens up. “Coran,” he calls. Then he leaves the room.

Coran turns and rushes to my side. His hands seem to be shaking just as much as I am. He picks me up and cradles me. 

It hurts where he touches my body, but at the same time, it hurts where he doesn’t. It hurts to see, but it hurts just as much to close my eyes. It hurts to cry, but it also hurts to hold my breath. It hurts to move, but it hurts just as much to stay myself. Is there nothing I can do to end my pain?

Coran lays me on my bed. When did we get to my room? Oh, my goddess. He had to have carried me past several sentries on the way here. I’m still crying! They must have seen me. Why didn’t the king send me to the dungeons to punish me?

Coran stays with me and tries to calm me down. He pets my hair and holds my hand, but it doesn’t take long for me to get sick of him. 

I push him away from me with a pathetic grunt. He doesn’t leave though. I don’t want anything to do with him right now. He knew what Alfor was going to do and he just stood there. I push him away harder. It hurts. I slump forward to hold myself, but that does nothing to make it better.

He kisses the top of my head. “I’m so sorry, m’boy. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He locks the door behind him.

Once I am alone, I allow myself to cry harder. I wasn’t very successful at subduing my tears in the first place, but now I really let them go. It hurts to cry. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to live. At least when I get cuts and bruises I can hold still to feel it less. Now it feels as if I’m being torn apart by hungry dogs with acidic drool.

I throw off my sheets. I have to do something. Perhaps I can distract myself until my agony dissipates. As soon as I stand, I fall, eliciting another pitiful sound of distress. I have to find something. I open a chest near the foot of my bed and tear desperately through its contents. I have to do something. The pain is getting unbearable. A glass bottle crashes against the wall. 

“Prince Lance?” a guard shouts. 

“Go away!” I scream. “Leave me alone!” I go to my bookshelf. Pain is in the mind, right? Maybe I can distract myself with something to read. I take down books at random and open them. I know the words are in Altean, but it all appears foreign to me. I can’t understand any of it. I throw the books in frustration. They knock down other things in the room, but I barely notice. I grab the top of the bookshelf and pull it down. I stumble away when it crashes and cracks in half.

“Your majest-!”

“Shut up! Go away!” I fall to my knees as I am shaking too much to stand. I let out another cry. I’ve scraped my leg on an exposed piece of the broken bookshelves’ metal framing. The torn metal has jagged edges. I realize in a brilliant moment of clarity that it has blood on it. I take the piece in my hand and kick it from the shelf as hard as I can. It sends fresh shockwaves of pain through my body. I almost black out, but I am able to regain my bearings. I’ve the metal piece in my hand now. I bring it down to continue the scrape it already made. 

I can feel it. I feel the new pain very keenly. _My_ pain— that I caused for myself. 

I take another stab. 

My father thinks he can get away with anything. I won’t be his pin cushion anymore. 

I make another cut; deeper this time. I whimper into it. If my life is to be anguish, then _I_ wish to be the one to inflict it. 

Blood gushes out of my leg. It makes me queasy. 

I cut again and grimace.

My father said I am weak because I think I am, but _he_ is the one who thinks that. Maybe that makes _him_ weak. He seems to believe there is strength in endurance. Maybe that’s why he hurts me. Every time I crumble, I only prove him right. 

I cut again. 

I can’t keep crying out for help any time I am in trouble. No one will come for me.

I cut again. 

I have to prove him wrong. 

Again. 

I can be strong.

Again.

I can endure.

Again.

I can suffer.

Again.

I can survive.

I keep cutting until my pants are but shreds. I can barely tell that my legs are legs through all the blood; that and the fluctuating black spots in my eyes. I go to make another cut, but everything swims. I can’t get my hand to move the way I want it to. The thick scent of red makes me dry heave until I puke up bile. It gets all over my fresh, open wounds. It stings. I think if I make another cut, more blood will wash out the stomach acid.

I manage to lift my arm, but then my whole body falls back. I can’t move. I’m still convulsing sporadically, involuntarily. 

I can vaguely make out the voice of a guard, but I can’t answer him. I can hardly breathe. I’m still choking on tears.

I think about what I’ve accomplished as I drift in and out of consciousness. I recognize in a flash of sobriety that I’ve gained nothing from this. I didn’t replace the king’s cruelties with my own. I realize that— in the end— everything only hurts more than it did before.

~ - ~ - ~

I wake up in a room in which I’ve never been. It’s bright. I blink slowly and carefully as dull aches are still rolling through my head and body. I’m in the castle infirmary, I think. With all my injuries, I wonder why I’ve never been here before. There are Balmeran crystals hanging from the ceiling. One above my head is glowing brightly. I’m quite certain the smaller crystals like these are talismans of good will and good health.

Someone rushes up to me. I think she’s a healer. “You are awake,” she informs me.

I am about to respond, “I know,” when I wonder if I really am awake.

She leaves and returns with another boy about my age.

“Leonis,” I smile.

He takes my hand. “What were you thinking— challenging Roaka like that? She’s vying to be admiral one day, you know. She nearly killed you!”

“I’m sorry,” I sigh. “But she was disgracing your name! I couldn’t bear it.”

He looks disappointed. “She was trying to get a rise out of you, and you fell for it.”

I look down at our hands. How can it be that I fail every challenge Altea sends my way?

Leo wraps his arms around me. “I’m just glad you’re okay, brother. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

I laugh. “There are others who would take my place in your heart. It is me who is lost without you.”

“Don’t say that!” he gasps. “You talk so lowly of yourself. It breaks my heart.” He pushes my shoulders back so he can see my face. “Tell me of your worth.”

“I am nothing,” I shrug.

“Aslan.”

I can tell he’s serious. I try to think of a positive trait that I possess. “I am your brother,” I say. “And that is the best thing I could possibly be.”

He beams. “Well then, I must be really lucky because I get to be _your_ brother!” He pulls me back into the hug. “And that is the best thing I will ever be.”

I pull him closer to me.

I open my eyes to find myself sitting up with naught but air in my arms.

“Lance!” Coran perks up from my bedside.

I’m in the infirmary for real this time. My head still hurts like in my dream, but it’s certainly not as bad as before I passed out. 

Coran is on me immediately and combs a worried hand through my hair. “Oh, Lance!” He peppers kisses all over my face. His mustache tickles.

I let myself laugh. How could anyone stay mad at Coran?

“I’m so glad you are awake. I wasn’t sure if-”

“Lance.” The king is here. My laughter quickly dies as he marches toward me. “What were you thinking?”

I notice my mother is right behind him. “Alfor, how can you be so sure it was him? With that wretched Galra boy running all over-”

“Stop this, Melanor,” he sighs. “Just go. Go away. You’re of no help here.”

She stands still for a moment. I think she might frown, but her face only falls to haughty indifference. She turns swiftly and leaves. 

I feel sad that she doesn’t at least meet my eye. I want her here. I don’t want to be alone with my father. At least Coran is here— not that he can stop anything. I just feel better that he’s by my side.

“Lance,” the king says, coming closer. “Let me see.” He waits for no answer as he takes the little infirmary blanket off of my legs to inspect them. They’re almost completely wrapped, though. Usually, Coran just wraps the parts that have cuts, but I guess that’s almost everything. I notice my hand is wrapped too. I must have cut it from gripping the metal so hard. Alfor casts his shadow over my lame body. “What happened?”

I don’t answer.

“Lance,” he says. “What were you thinking? Why-?”

“I don’t know.” I look away. “I- It made more sense in the moment.” 

“Why did you did this to yourself? You could have died.” He says it like that’s the worst possible outcome. 

“That’s what I want! Or…” I look up in confusion. “I thought that’s what you wanted.”

The king is angry. “Absolutely not.” His anger flares; then subsides. Then his face shows the whole range of emotions. “ _No_.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “Then what do you want with me? What am I supposed to-? Why? Why do you do this? Why do we do this? I don’t- I can’t-”

“Lance,” Alfor stops me. “You are my son. You are my kingdom’s prince. Why would I ever want you dead?” I don’t understand how he can ask that. Why wouldn’t he want me dead?

“How can I be a prince of Altea if I’m not even an Altean?” I divert.

He blinks at me for a few ticks. “Of course, you’re an Altean, my boy.” He sits down at the foot of the little infirmary cot. “Why- ?”

“You said I wasn’t,” I explain. “You said that Alteans don’t scream or cry, and I- uh… do.” We look at each other. I think I should start naming his different personalities. I can’t with confidence say this is the man who told me those things. “I can’t do this anymore,” I say. “I won’t.”

Coran tenses.

“I won’t cry, I mean. I… I have to stop.” I feel Coran’s exhale of relief on the back of my head. “I’ve been letting out my feelings when I should have been bottling them up, like you do, Father. Is that what you want, my king? For me to stop?”

The king puts a hand on my bandaged knee. “What do you want?” he asks.

“I want to die,” I answer perhaps too quickly. “Or I want to run away. I want to leave the palace. I can’t stand it here. I’m losing my mind.”

Father and Coran share a look of concern. “We keep you here to keep you safe. The Pentarchy is on the verge of war. You wouldn’t survive out in the world, let alone outside these walls.” He pauses. “And we want you to survive.”

I hate being so ignorant of everything. How can a kingdom be on the verge of war for thirteen years? “I thought the war was over,” I huff. “And it was only a small one anyway.” 

Coran worries his mustache. “Tensions are rising, Lance. And young Prince Lotor is only complicating matters.”

My father rubs his face. “The battles of which you speak, Lance, are only the beginning. They are growing more frequent and more severe. Currently, there is a lull, but I fear it to be the calm before a storm. Lotor is allowed here on fragile peacemaking terms. He can only bring his father’s word, however.

“Zarkon grows more aggressive in his attacks. He is hungrier than ever for power. He wants a war because he knows he can win. This treaty business is a ruse. He knows we won’t accept his terms. We can’t.” Father tightens his grip on my leg. 

“Ow,” I say. It isn’t a cry or a moan; it is simply a statement of pain. To my surprise, the king removes his hand. 

“I really ought to heal you,” he sighs, “but this was your doing. Perhaps you will learn to heal yourself.”

I don’t want to talk about this. “What are King Zarkon’s terms?” 

It seems he doesn’t want to talk about _that_. “The healer told me while you were asleep that there were only three cuts deep enough for stitches. You nearly missed your femoral artery, thank Leona. The rest of your cuts were able to be cleaned and bandaged. Perhaps I will heal those and leave you with the other three.”

I don’t understand him. “Why are you so keen on healing me this week? Is it to keep face?”

He seems offended. “My son, I heal you every time you are hurt.”

I can’t help but scoff. “I have scars who would say otherwise,” I retort. I realize the statement is quite rude, so I add, “Sir.”

He begins to unwrap my legs. “If I didn’t heal you, then you would have died,” he chides. “Do you think it is normal to recover so quickly? I’ve told you, Lance, there is much of which you do not know.” He frowns at the new marks on my skin. They’re an angry purple, which contrasts harshly against my pale skin. It’s sickening to see. “Messy,” my father notes. “Are you desirous of infection as well as death?”

I shake my head no.

“Hold still,” he commands.

I flinch. The last time he told me that, it didn’t end well.

Coran takes my arm. “It’s okay, my boy.”

My father sighs. Then he takes my ankles and moves them straight out in front of me. How have I never seen him heal me before? He closes his eyes and takes a breath in. When he exhales, his eyes open, but they’re glowing. His Altean marks are glowing too. The Balmeran crystals hanging above us seem to shine more brightly. The blue aura travels down his arms and flows into my legs. 

My mouth falls agape as the light washes over my wounds like water embracing the earth.

Father takes another breath and closes his eyes. When they open again, they’re back to normal. “Better,” he states. 

The little cuts are just gone. I’m in awe. I reach a tentative hand forward to touch my skin. 

King Alfor stops me. “You need to change. You slept all through yesterday and nearly half of today. Your people are waiting.” He and Coran help me off of the little cot and take me back to my room. It’s completely empty but for the bed. 

I stop in the doorway. “Where are my things?” I notice that even the bed has one, small blanket instead of several sheets and comforters. 

Father guides me by the small of my back to enter the room. “You are a danger to yourself. Until that changes, this is how you will live.”

I immediately think that I can always jump out the window if I really need to, but I decide not to bring this to his attention. 

Coran goes to unlock the closet, which has never been locked before. 

My father seats me on my bed. “I’m serious, Lance. This nation values your life. I can’t let you jeopardize this.”

“So it’s not even about me?” I ask.

“Of course, it’s about you,” Father sighs. “But you are a part of greater things. The future of Altea depends upon you.” He helps Coran to dress me.

It’s silks today, and I am glad for it. The smooth, white fabric falls over my body like a dress. I feel pretty. 

Coran has me take some kind of supplement that is supposed to help numb my headache. Then he leaves me alone with my father.

We walk down the empty hall together. “I don’t want to be around you,” I tell the king.

He takes my arm. “I will escort you to the plaza. Then I will let you be if you so desire.”

“I do.”

He doesn’t let go of me. “Lance,” he says very sternly. “If you do run away or make another attempt on your life, you will be found and you will be sorry. Those involved will not be spared.”

As we approach the castle doors, there are more and more people around us.

“You’re two-faced,” I state quietly.

Father stops me in the middle of the foyer. He puts his hands on my shoulders and forces me to meet his eyes. “Two-faced I may be, but at least I let you see my two faces.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who else do y'all think is two-faced ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)  
> Please tell me what you think and of any predictions you might have.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment what you think will happen next ( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°). Find out when we return.


End file.
